


Follow the Truth

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: I Spy (1965)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-01
Updated: 2003-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is structured around the episode: "The Lotus Eater".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Follow the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This story is structured around the episode: "The Lotus Eater".

**PART I** : _The day is for honest men, the night for thieves_ \-- Euripides, _Iphigenia in Tauris_

 

The cold of a winter's night in Vienna surrounded Kelly, penetrating the shelter of the car and promising an uncomfortable vigil, despite the care he'd taken in preparing for it. He thought longingly of Acapulco, of the Cote d'Azur, of Athens, where he and Scotty were due next, if they survived this night. Under protective layers Kelly flexed his gun hand, keeping it supple and warm. The last time he'd checked it had been nearing two in the morning. The heat he had built up in the car had dissipated, consumed by the outside cold. He'd risked everything in this last throw, risked it all on the hunch that Baecker would take Scotty to home territory. If he was wrong, if Scotty was, even now, on his way to Berlin, or Moscow.... Damn, but he wished he could risk a smoke.

_Behave yourself._

Kelly smiled at the strength of the voice in his head; Scotty's voice, calming him down as always. Some residual warmth seeped through the ice in his veins. Yeah, he'd behave himself, until this was over.

Helpless waiting was not one of his better skills; waiting alone ranked near the bottom. He was sure it was in his file somewhere: Agent Robinson demonstrates a remarkable inability to tolerate extended periods of delay before action. Left to his own devices, he will cause all sorts of havoc, trouble, and problems. So they had given him a partner, a partner who was much better at waiting, a partner who could be the patron saint of waiting. A partner who was, God willing, even now waiting for Kelly to get around to rescuing him.

Kelly clenched and released his hand, moved his shoulders, tightened and relaxed his muscles. Four days ago they'd been in Tehran, given a simple pick-up job by the new acting Bureau Chief in the Middle East. Collect stolen Russian military plans, conveniently placed on microfilm, and deliver them to Ankara. Two days ago they'd arrived at the rendezvous in Ankara and found Baecker and his men waiting for them. Scotty had let himself be captured to give Kelly the chance to escape with the microfilm. Kelly had taken the microfilm to the Embassy, seeking out the acting Chief, Laursen. It was then that Kelly had found out that he and Scotty had been decoys for the safe conveyance of the real microfilm. Their microfilm was worthless, their sacrifice had been for nothing.

Kelly stared out into the Austrian night, taking note of every car and truck that passed by, waiting for one of them to stop at the side entrance of Baecker's warehouse. A faulty light bulb flickered on and off above the door, rather like the surge and ebb of hope. He and Scotty both knew they were expendable—hell, you couldn't be in this job without knowing that. They were expendable, but they weren't to be thrown away; they weren't to be used by a desk-bound bureaucrat intent on career advancement. All right, fine, yes, he'd been used before; he'd been thrown to the wolves by Anderson, expected to give up false information that he'd thought was real. Anderson had underestimated him and it had nearly led to disaster on all fronts, before Scotty had figured it out. Afterwards, in Anderson's office, Kelly had gotten some of his own back. That last truth, maybe, was the only reason he'd stuck it out in the Department after Anderson's games, after everyone else's games. But Scotty wasn't the chosen one, he wasn't the one the Department gambled with. If they didn't know that, he'd just have to make it clear to them: Scotty was off-limits when it came to betrayal games.

With a sigh, Kelly rubbed his hand across his face, blinking away tiredness. Laursen would have to be dealt with. He'd admitted to the ruse, to using Kelly and Scotty to lure Baecker and any passing Soviet spies; he'd admitted slipping information to the right people that Kelly and Scotty were in the area. However, Laursen had denied setting them up at the rendezvous. But Kelly had heard the damning words as Baecker's men had grabbed Scotty—they’d known about the rendezvous. He and Scotty had been betrayed. Was Laursen playing a deeper game than he'd admitted? Was Laursen a fool or a traitor? Laursen was scrambling now for damage control, blaming Scotty's capture on the agents themselves. He held all the cards: the decoy microfilm, the real microfilm, and credit for a job well done—as long as he made sure that Scotty was either retrieved or killed before he could be taken and interrogated by the Russians. Laursen was certain Scotty would be taken to Baecker's Berlin property and exchanged there for a large sum of Baecker's favorite currency. Kelly had kept quiet about Vienna, and had slipped away as soon as Laursen had made it clear they could do without his help. If Kelly rescued Scotty, they'd deal with Laursen together; if Laursen was right about Berlin, Scotty was finished.

Well, if that happened, there were other options for taking care of Laursen.

A car pulled alongside the warehouse side door two blocks away. Raising binoculars to his eyes, Kelly focused on the car, scarcely daring to breathe. Four men exited the car, two of them supporting one between them: Scotty. Kelly's fingers tightened around the binoculars and a grim smile pulled at his mouth. He watched as the men entered through the side door, and the driver took the car up the street, disappearing from sight.

Kelly lowered the binoculars and checked his watch. He'd give them ten minutes and then it'd be game time. The explosives were already in place, awaiting his trigger. Earlier, he'd checked the lock and knew he'd be able to get through the door easily enough. He'd had most of the afternoon to plan, and the help of an old friend who hadn't asked any questions and who was now on her way to London after a hasty packing. Scotty would know Kelly was coming for him and he would understand what to expect as soon as the explosives detonated.

At 2:38 a.m. the first explosion rocked Baecker's imports warehouse. At 2:42 a.m., when the second device exploded, Kelly was in the building, hurrying through the hallway that held the main offices. Hearing running footsteps, he retreated into one of the offices, watching as two men passed by him before disappearing through the fire door at the end of the corridor. Stealthily, Kelly moved on, coming at last upon the sound of voices from inside one of the lit offices. Kelly tried the door, found it unlocked, and smiled.

He slammed the door open, diving into the room and rolling, bringing his gun to bear. Two men whirled on him and two shots took care of them, then Kelly looked across the room at Scotty. He was sitting on the floor with his hands behind him, a gash on his forehead the only evidence of trauma. After another quick glance at the men he'd shot, Kelly relaxed back onto his heels

"Is that you making all that noise?" Scotty asked, maneuvering around to present his bound hands. "Explosions and bombs and things."

"Certainly. You wouldn't want me to come in unannounced, would you? It wouldn't be good manners." Gaining his feet, Kelly pulled out a Swiss Army knife and dropped to his knees beside Scotty.

"Don't talk to me about manners. You left me at this party for days on end, enjoying yourself, while I was waiting for my ride to show up."

"You're exaggerating. Why do you always exaggerate?" Kelly helped Scotty to his feet, running a quick eye over him, checking for any other damage. "I was right on time for once, you just don't want to admit it." Another explosion sounded in the distance. "That's our signal to leave. Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine." Scotty scooped up one of the dead men's guns and then quickly followed Kelly into the hallway. "Hungry, though."

"Ah, no wonder you wanted to leave early." Kelly paused to check a cross-corridor. "Inconsiderate hosts."

"Considerably inconsiderate."

They met no one as they left the warehouse and walked quickly toward Kelly's car. Police cars, fire trucks, and the curious were all converging on the warehouse. Kelly and Scotty filtered through the gathering crowd, making their way steadily to the car. Scotty settled into the passenger seat with a sigh as Kelly fired the ignition and pulled out in a U-turn, heading away from the warehouse. In his rear-view mirror he caught a glimpse of fire on the far side of the warehouse. Welcome to the world of international espionage, Herr Baecker.

"Where are we going?" Scotty was slumped in his seat, his voice weary.

"The Graben Hotel for what's left of tonight and tomorrow, then to Ankara."

"I like the Graben."

"I know." Kelly turned onto the A22 to cross the Danube.

"Did you get the microfilm to Laursen?"

"Oh yes, I got the 'microfilm' to Laursen all right."

He could feel Scotty's eyes on him. "I don't think I want to know."

Kelly nodded. "You don't."

"Damn."

"Language, young Alexander."

"Don't you start. Fake?"

"As Laursen's sincerity."

"We were decoys."

"Sitting ducks, ready for target-shooting. Painted red."

A long sigh greeted this, followed by silence.

"You still with me, Kemosabe?" Kelly navigated the streets of the Hofburg Quarter, making good time through light traffic.

"Ssh."

"What?"

"I'm plotting murder."

"I wish you would. That's nice symmetry—Laursen’s been plotting your Department-sponsored assassination."

"I thought they loved me."

"Love is fickle." Kelly parked the car in the public lot closest to the hotel.

"So where are the assassins?"

"Berlin."

"Misread the map, huh? Is that why you came along on your white horse?"

Kelly turned off the engine and looked at Scotty. "Yes, I'm not fickle. Besides, I took a dislike to our man Laursen, despite his considerable charm." A snort greeted that, and Kelly smiled again. "I thought Vienna was the better choice."

"The wonderfulness of your mind. But why?"

There was genuine curiosity in the question. Kelly waited until they both had exited the car to explain. "Baecker's a novice at this. I don't think he meant to capture you in the first place."

"No, he didn't, at least, not without the microfilm. He took what he could get. He said the microfilm had been stolen from him in Tehran. He congratulated us on our theft technique, by the way."

"Oh, now that hurts."

"I wonder who Laursen got to do the job."

Kelly led the way towards the hotel. "Tell me when you find out so I can go break their necks."

"This is probably why Laursen didn't tell you who they were."

"I was perfectly charming when I asked."

"Witness the results."

"Anyway, I pondered on where Baecker would go with a hot spy on his hands, and I thought he'd head for home turf. Hence...."

"Vienna," Scotty finished the thought. "Good thinking, Hoby." He stifled a yawn.

With a hand on his arm, Kelly urged Scotty to a faster pace. "Come on, it's past your bedtime." As they came in sight of the hotel Kelly brought them to a stop. "Ah, Scotty, I forgot to tell you, you've been ill."

Scotty raised his eyebrows. "I have?"

"Yes, we've all been extremely worried about you."

"I see."

"Tonight you stubbornly insisted on going out on your own, despite my warnings. When you didn't come back, I went out to look for you." Kelly smiled warmly.

Scotty looked at him. "I know there's more."

"Certainly. I told them you might have fallen off the wagon."

"I don't drink!"

"No, not anymore, but...."

Scotty just kept on looking at him. Kelly shifted on his feet.

"See, I needed a car, man, and the porter agreed to lend me his, when I told him all about it. Your broken heart, I mean, that was the cause of all the illness and worry, and misspent time."

Scotty groaned.

"And your dashed hopes."

"Is that him coming now?" Scotty nodded toward the door.

Kelly looked around quickly. "Yes, so act drunk." He flung an arm around Scotty just as the door opened, revealing a gray-haired man in a hotel uniform.

"I see you found him, Mr. Robinson."

"Yes, finally. Thank you, Frederick. You can see the condition he is in." Kelly walked a wilting Scotty through the lobby of the hotel, heading for the elevators. Scotty was doing a masterful impression of a man ready to collapse. At least, Kelly hoped it was a masterful impression.

Frederick hurried ahead and called the elevator for them. "Alcohol and broken hearts never mix." Frederick helped Kelly to get Scotty into the elevator.

Kelly slipped a generous tip into Frederick's waiting hand. "If I have anything to say about it, he'll swear off drink from this moment on. Thank you, Frederick." The elevator doors closed and, with a slight jerk, the elevator began to rise.

Scotty straightened in Kelly's grasp, but didn't move away from him. "You, sir, are a cad."

"True true, but a rescuing cad."

"Hmm. Why a broken heart? Why not pneumonia or something more likely? Typhoid, for instance."

"Frederick is a frustrated romantic."

Scotty sighed. "Naturally."

"Would you like to hear the entire, sad story?"

"No." The elevator stopped and Scotty shrugged Kelly's arm off, moving into the hallway.

Kelly followed him, grinning. "Sure you do, it's very moving."

"Where's our room?"

"Right over there." Scotty walked quickly to the door, with Kelly trailing behind. "Do you know what your problem is?"

Scotty stopped at the door to their room. "Key?"

Kelly handed it to him. "Your problem is, you have no heart, you have no soul for romance."

Scotty unlocked the door and walked into the room, followed by Kelly. It was a suite, with a living area leading to a bath and a bedroom beyond that. Kelly closed the door behind them and set the lock. For a moment he closed his eyes, thanking every deity he'd ever heard of that they were here, together, and it was over. He turned back to Scotty, still standing in the center of the room.

"Your stuff's in the bathroom there. I'll be back to take a look at that cut."

Scotty simply nodded and headed for the bathroom. Kelly walked to the bedroom, shedding coat and shoes, then carefully stowing his holster and gun in his suitcase. He crossed the room to Scotty's suitcase and found pajamas and the first aid kit they always traveled with. He placed the pajamas on Scotty's bed, then returned to the bathroom, knocked on the door, and entered after Scotty's grunt of assent.

Scotty turned from the sink, his face wet, two-day beard growth still untouched. Silently, Kelly handed him a towel, then set the first aid kit on the counter and opened it. Scotty stood quietly while Kelly examined the cut, treating it with antibacterial spray and a bandage. "I don't think this needs stitches."

"Good." Scotty turned toward the door.

"Anything else I should look at?"

"No, they just wanted to keep me there. They didn't have any questions."

"All right. You're heading for bed?"

"Yeah." Scotty's voice came over his shoulder as he walked to the bedroom.

Needing to wind down, Kelly took a hot shower, washing away worry and anger, feeling the last of the ice inside him dissolve away. They'd report back to Ankara, then get out of there and back to Athens. Back on track, back on the merry-go-round. Ready for the next betrayal.

He shut off the water with more force than necessary, and dried himself, enjoying the heated humidity of the bathroom. He was glad they'd have the day and night before leaving for Ankara; he felt a dragging weariness that would take more than a good night's sleep to cure. But, at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to get out of Vienna. Contradictory impulses—well, that was nothing new.

Quietly, he made his way to the bedroom, switching off lights as he went, and focusing on the soothing sound of Scotty's breathing as he entered the darkened bedroom. For a moment he paused by Scotty's bed, simply listening, absorbing the presence of his partner. He shrugged out of the towel he'd wrapped around himself and pulled on his pajama bottoms before sliding into the comfort of his own bed. Slowly, he relaxed his muscles, encouraging himself to sink toward sleep. They were safe for another day, time to let it go. He'd feel better after he'd slept.

But it was a restless night for him, his sleep dogged by dreams filled with scattered, violent images. He finally dragged himself awake when he heard the knocking of the maid. Fumbling his way out of bed, Kelly glanced at Scotty, relieved to find him still sleeping. He made his way to the outer room in time to intercept the maid and ask her to come back later in the day. There was a bright glow around the edges of the velvet drapes covering the window, so he moved to the window, squinting as he pushed the drapes aside, flooding the room with light. It looked to be a gorgeous day in Vienna. How wonderful for someone.

Kelly took his time shaving and dressing, then he ordered room service breakfast for two, along with a morning paper.

Scotty made his appearance just as Kelly was pouring himself a second cup of the blessedly strong coffee they'd brought with the breakfast. He nodded at Scotty, and watched in some amusement as Scotty settled in with single-minded intentness on his breakfast.

"Did we make the papers?" Scotty asked finally, after finishing two eggs, two pastries, all the fruit, and three quarters of the toast in the rack. He poured himself another cup of coffee.

Kelly leaned back. "Yes, indeed we did. We are, officially, saboteurs."

Scotty smiled. "The Department will be so proud."

Kelly smiled back. "As long as the authorities stay away from us."

"There's no reason for them to connect it with us, is there?"

Kelly shrugged.

"Don't go borrowing trouble." Scotty reached for the remaining pastry. "Here, fill yourself up with sugar."

"No thanks, man." The pastry made a detour to Scotty's mouth, and Kelly's smile returned. "You're supposed to be eating your greens, Alexander. I promised your mom, now."

Through a mouth filled with pastry, Scotty said, "Read me the paper."

"You're disgusting." But Kelly obediently read the article on the early-morning explosion and fire at Baecker Importe. Konrad Baecker had escaped the fire, but two of his employees had died under suspicious circumstances. The police were following several promising leads. After finishing the article, Kelly looked up at Scotty. "Maybe we should leave today."

Scotty raised his eyebrows. "Do you really think Baecker would set them on us? His government wouldn't approve of what he was doing."

"Still." Kelly put the paper down and wandered over to the window, keeping to the shelter of the drapes as he scanned the street below them.

"Okay." Scotty's voice sounded behind him. "Whatever you want."

Kelly looked back at him. "Pandering to my paranoia?"

"It's a full time job." Scotty finished the pastry and stood up. "Go on, call the airline. I'm going to take a shower."

There were no flights from Vienna to Ankara scheduled that day, but Kelly booked them on a flight to Geneva that was leaving in three hours. They'd spend the night in Geneva and continue on to Ankara the next day. Not the most direct route, perhaps, but it settled his nerves marvelously.

An hour later they were on their way to the airport, an hour after that they boarded the plane, everything proceeding as smoothly as clockwork. As the plane took off, banking over Vienna en route to Geneva, Scotty leaned over to Kelly. "Better?"

Kelly rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom."

"Good. You can buy me dinner tonight at Le Bearn."

Kelly winced. "There goes my per diem."

"And then some." With a gleeful chuckle, Scotty settled back in his seat, closing his eyes.

"I should've left you at that party."

"Ssh. I'm sleeping."

Kelly smiled as he leaned back in his own seat, contentedly watching Vienna slip away behind them. He'd be just as glad never to see the place again.

Despite the comforts of a good hotel, an excellent (if expensive) dinner, and nothing on their agenda but a restful night, Kelly found that he couldn't settle, couldn't still the fluttery feeling of panic in his stomach. It didn't make any sense to be worried now, which didn't help in trying to soothe it. Inevitably Scotty noticed, but he accepted Kelly's explanation of too little sleep easily enough.

Over dinner they caught each other up on everything that had happened while they were separated. Scotty's captivity had been relatively uneventful; Kelly had left the Ankara embassy in a bit of an uproar. Kelly looked up to find Scotty grinning at him over his glass of milk.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just nice to know you made yourself objectionable while I was otherwise engaged."

"I'm glad you feel that way, because you're the one who's going to have to make sure they don't lock me up when we go back there."

"I will do my best. At the very least I'll send postcards to cheer you up in prison."

Back at the hotel, Kelly wandered out onto the small balcony their room boasted. It was a clear night, the sky was that brilliant contrast between starlight and blackness that always seemed richer in Switzerland, even in Geneva. Lighting a cigarette, Kelly leaned on the rail of the balcony, looking out over the city, towards the mountains. They hadn't gone on a skiing vacation in years—he should remember to suggest that to Scotty next time. He could do with some time in the mountains, in that clear, cold air.

He was tired, obviously; he hadn't slept well the night before, hadn't slept at all the night before that. It never worked to make decisions when he was tired; everything always seemed bleaker in the gray world of fatigue. He took a drag on his cigarette. If only he could figure out why his nerves were jumping and jangling at him. He heard the sound of cloth rubbing against wood and knew that Scotty was in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, watching him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Kelly exhaled smoke out into the darkness.

"I can feel the tension in you from here."

Kelly closed his eyes but he didn't say anything. He waited.

"Let me help you."

And there it was, the offer that Scotty made from time to time. Something slid, searing and twisting, into Kelly's stomach, leaving him breathless. There was a world of difference between "I'll give you a massage" and "Let me help you." He stubbed the cigarette out on the balcony rail.

"All right."

He didn't turn around, but he felt Scotty's approach, only a slight twitch betraying his feelings as Scotty's hand closed over his shoulder. And then Scotty was turning him, guiding him back into their room.

While Scotty switched off all the lights, except the bedside lamp, Kelly undressed and lay face down on his bed, his head supported by a pillow, his eyes closed. Scotty sat down on the bed, and then he reached over and turned off the bedside lamp as well. Kelly felt Scotty's hands on his back, beginning the familiar massage that never failed to relieve and relax. This had been a part of their routine from the beginning, a trainer's rubdown of his athlete, a preparation for the next day's game. They'd both enjoyed it, never really acknowledging the way it had eased their transition from newly-minted partners to the best team in the Department.

Often, there were jokes as Scotty worked on him, barbs traded back and forth, sometimes about the tennis game, other times about their real lives. Or Scotty would tell him a story about Philadelphia, about the people he used to know, who would never know him if they saw him today. Sometimes, Kelly would find himself telling Scotty about his own childhood, about being in Germany after the war, or on the farm with his aunt and uncle. Lighthearted, outrageous, serious, they'd covered it all through the contact of hand and muscle and voice.

And then one night it had changed, a new element sliding into the familiar pattern, like a streaking comet on a long orbit. "Let me help you," Scotty had whispered that night, when he had noticed the effect warmth and stimulation had had on Kelly. It had been a night when Scotty had felt, perhaps, that Kelly had reached a point from which he'd needed pulling back. Always before then, if Kelly had gotten aroused by the massage, they'd laughed it off as no big deal. That night, though, Kelly couldn't laugh, and Scotty hadn't tried. Instead, he'd used his hands, and his knowledge of Kelly, and he'd brought him to a slow, gentle climax. Other, similar nights had followed—affection without demands; partners doing for each other when need be. Not often repeated, but the sex had been there on offer, when needed.

Except the need only ever seemed to be Kelly's.

Scotty more often initiated the sex, but always as a response to Kelly's mood. Once in a while, Kelly couldn't help but ask, without words, for Scotty's touch, and Scotty always understood. Scotty seemed to enjoy it—his voice soft, his hands gentle or rough, depending on Kelly's need, he never hesitated. And, from time to time, there'd been more than one erection, more than one wet patch afterwards, as they'd lain close together on a too-narrow bed, breathing in synch.

Touches, stroking, occasional words mingling with groans. Just once, Kelly had tried a kiss, but Scotty had turned his head, although his hands had never faltered. The silence between them, on this one topic, had grown to a conspiracy, unbreakable. Kelly hadn't the courage to attempt to break it anymore, had lost that ability when he'd realized just how far he'd fallen in love with his partner.

So, he lay there now, muscles warming and loosening under Scotty's ministration, while the rhythmic pressure, and anticipation, sent blood flowing to his cock. He'd promised himself nearly six months ago that he wouldn't do this again, wouldn't put himself through the aftermath, wouldn't accept when Scotty offered. Wouldn't ever ask. But it was an addiction stronger than cigarettes or alcohol, an addiction far stronger than his will. One touch of Scotty's hand, one note in Scotty's voice, and Kelly would reach out to accept, lay bare his need, and take what he could get.

"Relax, Kel. We're safe. Let it go." Scotty's voice murmuring above him, seducing him with open affection. He never doubted Scotty's feelings for him, he couldn't doubt that. It was the nature of the attachment that fed his despair. But it wasn't Scotty's fault he couldn't offer anything more than he did. Indeed, what he was able to offer was beyond expectation or price. Kelly did his best to relax his muscles, to fall in with Scotty's rhythm, and when Scotty eased him over, massage turning to caresses, Kelly closed his eyes and gave back what he was allowed to give.

His hands traveling over smooth skin, Kelly charted the movements of sculpted muscles in Scotty's arms and shoulders and neck. In his mind's eye he pictured Scotty, the look of his hands on Scotty's dark skin, and he ached to kiss what he could only touch. Rather to his surprise, he felt Scotty ease down on top of him, and he realized Scotty was naked as well, and that this time, maybe, Scotty had a few needs of his own.

Kelly gathered Scotty to him, feeling the contained strength of him, the bulk of him, and a hardness growing to match his own. Scotty was breathing heavily, his movements picking up urgency, and Kelly encouraged him, hands stroking down Scotty's back and sides, his own body gathering to thrust, to move against the heated friction of his partner.

Scotty groaned, deep in his throat, and then his head came down and his mouth settled on Kelly's chest. The first touch of Scotty's tongue on his nipple sent sparks through Kelly's body, and it was all he could do to hold on as sensation ripped through him, as he got a taste of all he'd hoped for. Scotty sucked and bit and soothed, ranging over his chest and stomach, while Kelly bucked beneath him, spiraling into heat and light and unbearable feeling.

He was groaning himself now, a pulsating sound that he had no desire to control. It was all he could do to keep his hands from exploring too far, to keep them on Scotty's back and sides. Scotty tucked his face into Kelly's neck, his arms wrapped around Kelly's shoulders and they rode each other, twisting and moving and desperate. Scotty's hot breath was searing him, but it made him feel alive, set him ablaze with delight, and then Kelly reached the peak and he shuddered into climax, blind and deaf to everything but the joy of release.

Gradually his senses returned and he felt the desperate grip of Scotty's fingers, the tremor of unfulfilled need in the body clinging to his. "Come on, come on," he whispered fiercely, moving his body against Scotty's, knowing his semen would lubricate and aid in Scotty's own release. And he held Scotty to him tightly when he felt the first jerk in that heavy body, gave him just the right pressure, and sighed in contentment as he felt Scotty come.

Entwined, they lay together as their hearts slowly eased to a normal pattern, and their breaths came more easily. Too soon, Scotty slid off him to the edge of the bed, leaving Kelly exposed, cold rushing in where warmth had ruled. Slowly, Scotty lifted himself to a sitting position, and he rubbed a hand over his face. Kelly turned his head away, shifting on his back to a more comfortable position. His right hand was close to Scotty's thigh, and he wanted to reach for him, but he didn't. He gave Scotty the space he needed, restoring the natural distance between them of two separate beings.

The silence stretched, painful for all that it covered. Kelly closed his eyes, but he found the will to get them back on track. "I think I can sleep now."

There was no reply, just the continuing presence of Scotty sitting beside him. Then, just as Kelly was about to open his eyes, to question, he heard Scotty's low voice: "I owe you my life, Kel."

Like a punch in his stomach the words hit him, taking his breath and his voice. His need, so blatant; Scotty feeling he owed him. They'd never counted debts between them, never kept score, except in the early, early days. "Go to sleep," he said, managing the words in a credible voice, needing, now, a real distance between them.

After a moment, Scotty sighed. "Yeah. Good night." He felt Scotty leave the bed, and Kelly pulled his right arm in tight to his body, then rolled to his side, away from Scotty. After a moment he reached for the cover that had been kicked to the bottom of the bed, and he curled himself beneath it. Behind him, he heard Scotty settling into the other bed.

Scotty always played fair, always believed in meeting the truth head on. He'd given Kelly what he could tonight, had given more than he'd given before, out of gratitude—evening the balance sheet between them, sex for a rescue. And he'd let Kelly know it, as gently as he could. That was true affection, love of a sort, but with limits. It was up to Kelly to be equally as honest, to accept or to leave. He couldn't leave. So, acceptance it would be, and he'd have to define the limits of their relationship by Scotty's criteria.

For a moment rage engulfed him, the unfairness of it eating at him, and he trembled with the need to suppress it. The shamed rawness of exposure fueled the rage. But...what else could he expect? And as the rage died, grief followed. Grief for the ending of something that had never existed. Let tonight be the last.

A long time later, staring out into the dark, he made his mind up. He had no real choice—he wouldn't give Scotty up as his partner. He wouldn't stop loving him. But he needed to get away for a few days, get his head clear, for both their sakes. He'd let Scotty go on his own to Ankara, use the excuse of the mess he'd left there, let Scotty do his diplomatic thing. It was always better to plot with the truth. Kelly would go to Athens first, book them in the hotel, and then he'd take a couple of days to explore the islands. He'd let the dust settle in Ankara, and he'd let the Greek sun burn the need out of him, give him a new life that he and Scotty could both accept.

A scrap of classical mythology wafted up from the recesses of his brain: Dionysus, the twice-born god, a symbol of rebirth after death. A smile crept across his face. Very well, he'd seek out Dionysus. Experience what life had to offer for a few short days, and then he'd return to be Scotty's partner, to live within Scotty's limits.

 

*****

 

 **PART II** : _But after her there came the son of Semele, who matched her present by inventing liquid wine as his gift to man. For filled with that good gift, suffering mankind forgets its grief; from it comes sleep; with it oblivion of the troubles of the day. There is no other medicine for misery._ \-- Euripides, _The Bacchae_

 

Slumped in his chair, Scotty rubbed his eyes with both hands before propping his chin on his palms. Exhaustion dragged at him, ready to pull him down whenever he rested, whenever he let down his guard. When was the last time he'd slept through the night? At least three nights ago, and before then he'd slept poorly, ever since Kelly had failed to appear in Athens.

_I thought you were dead._

_And in place of that I turn up all live and kicking and relaxed and happy and that makes you all…uptight._

Scotty got to his feet, pacing over to the small window overlooking the Embassy grounds. He'd found Kelly, had discovered and destroyed Sorgi's plan to capture him, and he'd risked giving Kelly the cobbled-together antidote to free him. After it was over, he'd brought Kelly back to Athens, first to the hotel, and then to the Embassy where he had delivered him into the care of the Embassy physicians. They wouldn't find anything wrong with Kelly; he was back to his old self now that the drug was out of his system.

_I have come in, out of the cold. I'm not in the spy business anymore._

It had taken him ten days to locate Kelly and, even then, it had been Harris who had told him where to look. Scotty knew Kelly better than anyone, but he'd been unable to find him, growing increasingly worried as the days and the islands had sped by. Kelly wouldn't just drop out of sight like that, without a word. Not after that dumb, nearly disastrous, bet in Mexico. And, as he'd told Harris, Kelly wouldn't fall for the sun or the women, even after a bad assignment like the business with Laursen. But he would stop for a pretty face, believing he was on vacation; he would taste the local ouzo, and that had been the trap. Sorgi had known how to lure Kelly. Sorgi had provided the beautiful Irena, and he'd given her the addictive, drugged ouzo for Kelly. After that, all Sorgi had had to do was wait. Kelly, at his ease and unguarded, had made it easy for him.

Scotty walked back to the chair, frowning down at it for a moment before transferring his gaze to the closed door. They'd sent him here to wait until they were finished with Kelly, after he'd made it clear that he wasn't going back to the hotel alone. It was a utilitarian office space, converted to a waiting room with the inclusion of chairs and a table with a couple of old American magazines on it. Scotty paced back to the window, unwilling to sit again.

They had changed at the hotel, establishing something of a normal routine before reporting in. Kelly had even started a letter to Scotty's mother, while Scotty tied up a few loose ends with Sorgi and the Embassy. On the surface, everything was normal, but Scotty knew that the guilt was already starting to eat at Kelly; he had caught a certain wary look in Kelly's eyes. Kelly had been writing to Scotty's mother about Scylla and Charybdis—he might as well have been writing about Scotty's last three days, caught between the Department's need to eliminate a potential threat and Sorgi's need for revenge, with Kelly the prize.

Leaning his head against the window, Scotty closed his eyes and willed himself to calm. What did the whys matter? Or the what-ifs? Kelly was alive, it was enough.

At the sound of the door opening, Scotty opened his eyes and turned around quickly. Smith, officially a defense attaché, unofficially top aide to the Department's representative, entered the room, nodding at him.

Scotty walked to the door. "Are they finished with him?"

"Not yet." Smith shrugged his shoulders. "It could be awhile. Conway wants to see you."

Scotty raised his eyebrows. "Russ? I thought he'd left Athens."

"He came back. Come on, I'll take you to him."

Scotty followed Smith down long corridors, the décor changing from functional to impressive as they moved towards the more important offices in the complex. Russ was waiting for them in a small office with a magnificent view of the Parthenon. He nodded when he saw Scotty, and gestured to a chair in front of the desk. As Scotty settled into the chair he felt the first prickling sense of unease. Russ seemed normal enough—craggy face, sharp blue eyes, but his short red hair was disordered, as if he'd been running a hand through it. Russ closed the door behind a departing Smith, leaving them alone in the office.

"We just can't get rid of you, can we?" Scotty asked Russ.

Russ gave him a wry smile, strolling to the desk. "Not when you and Kelly stir up hornets nests, no. Do you have any idea what's been going on these last two weeks?"

The unease grew. "I've been a little preoccupied." He kept his voice light.

Russ perched on the corner of the desk, his eyes on Scotty. "Yes, we know. How about you tell me what happened in Ankara?"

"Ankara?"

"Yes, that little matter of the microfilm."

"What's this about, Russ?"

"I'll tell you, but first I want to hear your version of how the microfilm was delivered."

Scotty studied him for a moment, several unpleasant possibilities making themselves known to him. A reasonable amount of paranoia was a good thing in his profession. "I wasn't there when the microfilm was delivered."

"I'm aware of that, Scotty. Tell me what you do know."

"Just what I've been told. You'll need to speak with Laursen." He paused as suspicion chilled him. "Or with Kelly."

Russ stayed silent, simply looking at him. Unease turned to alarm, Scotty's muscles tightening in reaction. "Is this an interrogation?"

Russ crossed his arms. "Call it a...friendly conversation."

"I see. And Kelly?"

"That you might call an interrogation."

Scotty's fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. "After all he's been through?"

"At his own choice." Russ's expression was hard, but after a moment he shook his head and his mouth relaxed. "He's fine, Scotty, I promise you. We've got a mess to clear up and the sooner you tell me what you know, the sooner we can do that. All right? What happened on your assignment from Laursen?"

Scotty eyed him for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Laursen had arranged for the microfilm to be stolen and passed on to us. We didn't have any trouble with the pickup, but Baecker and his men were on our trail almost immediately. Too easily. We handled it, and eventually we got away from them. We made contact with Laursen when we got to Ankara and then arrived early at the rendezvous. I went ahead into the square and triggered the trap they'd set for us."

"Why did you go ahead?"

Scotty kept his voice level. "Standard procedure. Kelly scouted the perimeter while I went in. Baecker's men jumped me—their mistake not waiting for Kelly. I created enough noise to alert Kelly and he got away with the microfilm."

"Convenient that he was carrying it."

Scotty's smiled thinly. "Yes, it was."

"Why was that?"

"Why was what?"

Russ made a gesture of impatience. "Scotty."

"Tell me what this is all about, Russ."

Russ sighed. "You were captured and Kelly then followed procedure by going straight to the Embassy?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe you were set up?" Russ's look was intent.

"I know we were set up. My German is excellent. They weren't shy about it, until they found I didn't have the microfilm. They shut up after that."

"Would Kelly have guessed about the set-up?"

Scotty considered his answer; so much depended on what they were in trouble for. That this was serious, whatever it was, he had no doubt. Russ wouldn't have come back to Athens for anything other than a top-level investigation. "Yes, I believe he would."

Russ pursed his lips. "Kelly doesn't speak German."

"Kelly understands some German. 'There he is, get him' he's familiar with."

Russ nodded and looked away.

“Russ—“

Holding up a hand, Russ continued with his questions. "What did Kelly tell you about Ankara?"

Treading carefully, Scotty replied, "He gave the microfilm to Laursen, then got to work on rescuing me."

"Nothing more?"

Scotty's eyes flickered. "What do you want to know?"

"Why, after escaping in Vienna, did you go to Ankara alone?"

"After Kelly _rescued_ me I went alone to Ankara in order to report in to Laursen."

"Standard procedure—“

"Yes, well, we'd had enough of standard procedure, okay? Kelly took a break, he said he wouldn't be too popular in Ankara. Maybe we shouldn't have done that but Laursen didn't seem to miss Kelly at all. It was just a report."

"So you believe Kelly was playing least in sight."

"Yes." He looked intently at Russ. "What else?"

"And we all know what happened to him after that."

Scotty nodded, not willing to talk about it.

"I see." Russ ran a hand through his hair. "Was it Kelly or Laursen who told you about Kelly's break-in at the Embassy?"

Scotty pressed his lips together, then looked narrowly at Russ. "Laursen. Is that what this is about?"

Standing, Russ walked around to the far side of the desk, bracing his hands on the surface before he looked up at Scotty. "The microfilm Laursen sent to Washington turned out to be a fake. The real microfilm is missing."

Scotty stared at Russ, thoughts jumbling in his brain, the most urgent of which were Kelly's present location and condition. "You think Kelly stole the microfilm?"

"That's one of the theories."

Scotty stood up and Russ straightened. "You know better than that, Russ."

"He broke into the Embassy."

"To get Baecker's file to help in rescuing me! He should have been granted access to the file in the first place!"

"That microfilm would have been a valuable bargaining chip."

It took a moment for Scotty to remember to breathe. "Kelly wouldn't do that." He took a step forward, then stopped. "And if he did, he wouldn't have left Vienna without getting it back. You know that."

Russ held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "But it is one of the more plausible theories. This partnership of yours has its weaknesses, too. Kelly did get you away relatively easily." He held up both hands to stop Scotty's protest. "We've had Konrad Baecker in custody since the day you left Vienna. He doesn't have the microfilm, but there's no proof that he didn't send it along before we grabbed him."

Scotty shook his head. "No, that's not it. Are they sure the fake microfilm is the one we were carrying? Is it the decoy microfilm in Washington or is the real microfilm a fake?"

"That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question. No, they aren't sure. Analysis revealed the trickery, but all we know for sure is that there is only one canister of film when there used to be two."

"What are the other theories?"

Russ spread his hands. "Take your pick. Only three people had access to that microfilm: Laursen, his aide Proctor, and Kelly. Even if we just look at Kelly we've got options: he stole the microfilm to save you, he stole the microfilm to sell it, he stole the microfilm to frame Laursen."

"Why would he frame Laursen?"

"Kelly's feelings on the subject of betrayal are well known."

Scotty looked at him. "He has reason."

"Maybe, but it's not helping his case."

"What about Laursen and Proctor?"

"Oh, several theories apply to one or both of them. They're here in Athens, being watched. They're proclaiming their innocence, too."

"You know where Kelly's been the last two weeks. Does it seem likely he'd disappear on Santorini with the microfilm?"

"He's been out of contact and he told you he'd quit the service."

"That was the drug."

Russ leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. "Was it? It's not going down well in Washington, Scotty. Drug or no, he said he'd quit, he was with a woman associate of Sorgi's, he was unstable at best, a traitor at worst."

"Not Kelly."

Russ blew out a breath. "You know we have to check him out."

Scotty held himself still. "An interrogation. Which you already did."

"I did it myself. That's why I came back to Athens."

Nodding, Scotty kept his voice quiet and level. "Then, tell me this: does he still trust you, Russ?"

Before Russ could answer, the telephone on his desk rang. Russ picked it up, answering brusquely. He listened for a moment, then said, "Bring him here." He hung up the phone and looked back at Scotty.

"He came through it fine, Scotty. No secrets and no dealings with Sorgi."

"Sorgi. Of course."

"Another of the theories."

"Do you believe him?"

"It's not up to me. Sorgi's yacht is being watched; as soon as he enters international waters, his boat will be searched. Harris is on that detail."

Scotty ran his tongue along dry lips. "What about me? If you suspect Kelly—“

"Your luggage and your room were searched each time you came back to Athens."

That stopped him—he hadn't caught it, hadn't noticed. Russ should can him for that alone. "I see." Scotty looked down, brushing his fingers across the back of one hand. "What happens now?"

"That depends on you."

Scotty raised his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Russ hesitated a moment before he spoke. "You're not a suspect, Scotty. You can leave all this behind you. Leave Athens."

"Without Kelly."

"There's your career to think about."

Scotty stayed silent, his expression unchanged.

A slight smile broke the severity of Russ's face. "All right."

The door opened behind Scotty, and he turned to see Smith gesturing Kelly into the room. A quick glance was all it took for Scotty to determine that Kelly had been drained by the interrogation. He was walking, but it was a close-run thing. Scotty bit down on useless emotion, keeping his face impassive.

"More questions, Russ?" Kelly's tone was light, but Scotty heard the tension behind the words. Kelly met Scotty's eyes. "Have you been having a chat with teacher, too?"

"Well, he's been telling me some fairy tales."

The ghost of a smile lit Kelly's eyes. "Has he really? Isn't that marvelous." He glanced quickly at Russ, then back to Scotty. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. What about yourself?"

"I have, indeed, known better days." Kelly shrugged, settled his shoulders, and turned to Russ. "What now, O master of our fates?"

Scotty turned with him, watching Russ, very aware of Smith behind them in the doorway.

"Now," Russ said, "Smith is going to take you to a safe house for tonight. We want to keep an eye on you."

Scotty looked sideways at Kelly. "We're going to experience the wonderfulness of the Department's hospitality."

Kelly's smile was tired. "Five-star accommodations, no doubt. Why just tonight?"

Russ walked around the desk. "Because the pieces have been moved around and I don't think we're far from checkmate." He ushered them out of the office.

Kelly nudged Scotty as they walked out. "We're pawns, my man."

"Hmm. As long as they remember to feed us."

Scotty and Kelly followed Smith through the hallways, emerging into the bright light of late afternoon in Athens. They were placed in the back of a black sedan, while Smith rode in the front along with a driver. The interior of the car was sweltering, but as they picked up speed, the breeze through the open windows snatched away the worst of it.

At first Smith attempted light conversation, but Kelly was too exhausted to bother, and Scotty was disinclined to be helpful. Smith gave it up and there was silence as the driver navigated the streets, heading out of Athens. Scotty turned his head to watch the buildings falling away behind them, endless sun-drenched white stone broken only by intersecting streets and the occasional riot of flowers spilling over balconies. Beside him, he felt Kelly's struggle to stay awake, and marked his defeat as Kelly slumped against him.

It was little wonder that Kelly needed the sleep; he'd been pushed right to the edge among all of them: Sorgi and Russ, and Scotty himself. Was it only that morning that Scotty had kept vigil, waiting for any sign of life from Kelly? The echo of the lab technician's words had haunted his dreams, in the occasional moments when he had slept: _It may destroy him_. He'd had no choice but to inject Kelly with the antidote; Kelly would have agreed. Scotty closed his eyes on the memory of Kelly's confusion and helplessness. Some day, somewhere, Sorgi would pay for that.

Kelly was heavy on Scotty's shoulder, his breathing deep and relaxed. Kelly always could sleep anywhere, the ability directly linked to his talent for pushing himself beyond exhaustion. Like a candle, he'd glow brighter just before his flame disappeared, burned out and used up. Scotty had watched it happen, on the tennis court and on the job—Kelly committing too much of himself to the game, unable to detach even when he should, even when it led to disaster. But then, that was why the Department had given Scotty the role of trainer/manager to Kelly's player. Kelly danced and Scotty picked up the pieces. In truth, the Department hadn't a clue why the partnership worked, how the watcher and the watched merged.

At least Russ had had the sense not to try to separate them. They'd see this thing through together. The Department was always ready to believe the worst about Kelly: unstable, undisciplined, too independent. They admired all that creative energy when it suited their purposes, and feared it just as much when it didn't. Very few in the Department seemed to understand that Kelly was the survivor, the one with the well-hidden core of strength that would see him through anything they threw at him, and would bring Scotty along with him.

Kelly himself didn't realize it. Unbidden to his mind came the memory of Kelly surrendering himself into Scotty's care, late at night. All that intensity held captive in his hands, as heady as snatching life from death.

Restless, Scotty shifted in his seat, drawing a mumbled protest from Kelly before they settled back down. Catching Smith's eye on them, Scotty stared at him until Smith looked away, then returned his gaze to the outside world.

It was a fine mess Kelly had landed them in this time. The Department, as always, favored suspicion over trust. It was a given that Russ wasn't telling them everything, but also a given that Russ would do more for them than any other of the controls. Okay, they'd give Russ his night, but then they might begin to take matters into their own hands. This smelled too strongly of a set-up for them to sit on the sidelines hoping for the best. Scotty's hand tightened into a fist. Kelly's disappearing act on Santorini hadn't helped matters any, making it easy not only for Sorgi but for whoever was behind the disappearance of the microfilm as well. Dumb, that was the word for Kelly. Simple and dumb and far too susceptible to a pretty face and ouzo. No wonder it made him angry just to think about it, ready to lash out at Russ and Smith and the whole lot of them. Ready to lash out at Kelly in particular, the reckless fool.

_I have come in, out of the cold._

Yeah, well, it isn't that simple or uncomplicated, Kel. Although Kelly might get his wish, if they pinned the missing microfilm on him. If Kelly had gone with him to Ankara this whole thing might have been averted. And since when did Kelly play least in sight, playing it safe? Scotty would get to the bottom of that, too, along with all the rest. Deliberately, he relaxed his hand.

Eventually, the car turned into a series of short, interconnected streets, weaving through a residential section on the outskirts of Athens. For a while, they drove alongside a privacy wall, before slowing and then entering a courtyard through a gate. At the far end of the courtyard stood a small house, its windows dark, flanked by a garden and an open-air garage.

Kelly roused as the car stopped. "Where are we?"

"Your five-star accommodations." Scotty opened the door and eased out of the car, followed by Kelly.

"The rating system has deteriorated." Kelly peered at the house with a dubious expression.

Smith came around the front of the car. "Your bags are in the trunk. I'll open the house up."

Scotty and Kelly gathered their luggage, then followed Smith into the house while the driver of the car stayed at the wheel. A quick glance revealed two guards on the outside of the house, not bothering to hide themselves. One stood by the wall to the right, at the border of the garden, the other leaned against an olive tree next to the garage. They looked young, probably from the Embassy military staff.

Inside, the layout of the house was simple. The door opened onto a living room, decorated in a modern style, with a short wall on their right marking the foyer from the rest of the room. To their left was a dining area, with an archway leading into a kitchen at the back. To their far right was a hallway that must lead to bedrooms and a bathroom. There was no upper story to the house, but the ceiling was high, drawing the heat up.

Kelly made a beeline for the sofa in the living room, sitting down heavily, his bag beside him. Scotty left him there, following Smith in a brief tour, leaving his own bag in one of the bedrooms.

"There's food and supplies in the kitchen," Smith told him, leading Scotty back to the living room.

"You're not staying?"

"No. I need to get back."

"For whatever is going on tonight?"

Smith smiled. "You've seen that you're not alone?"

"Yes, I noticed that."

"Good. See you in the morning. Night, Kelly." Smith left the house, locking the door behind him.

With a sigh, Kelly brought himself to his feet and reached for his bag. Scotty walked over to him. "Don't bother with that." He pushed Kelly back down onto the sofa. "You look dead on your feet."

"I'm not too lively off them, either." Kelly stretched out on the sofa. "I'll help."

Scotty picked up Kelly's bag. "In another life, maybe."

Kelly napped while Scotty deposited his bag, checked out the bathroom facilities, and began a methodical search of the rooms. It didn't take long to find the listening devices that had been planted throughout the house. Gazing at one of the bugs on the underside of the dining table, Scotty wondered which side had planted them. It could always be both, of course. He supposed it didn't matter at this point; he didn't dare remove any of them.

Glancing at Kelly to be sure he was still asleep, Scotty walked back into the kitchen, in search of the food Smith had promised. The sun was setting in back of the house, long, slanted rays penetrating the windows of the kitchen, turning the room a mellow gold. He found bread, cheese, something that looked like moussaka in the refrigerator, fruit and bottled water. Rummaging further, he found the "supplies" that Smith had mentioned.

His arms braced on the countertop, Scotty hung his head for a moment, letting the tiredness wash over him, hoping it might help to clear his brain. He opened his eyes and gazed down at the .38 Colt Commander nestled into the silverware drawer. There was a clip resting beside it and a box of bullets beyond that. He'd already checked their luggage and knew that their usual handguns had been confiscated. Someone had left them a present.

The problem was, he could think of several possibilities and none of them were attractive. Russ could have intended the Colt for them, which meant he expected trouble. Smith could have left it for them, without Russ's knowledge, which boded ill for their future with Russ. Smith might not have known about the gun at all, which, depending on who had left it, might be good or bad, but probably bad. The bullets could be blanks. The gun could be sabotaged to misfire. They might expect Kelly and him to fight it out and take care of the Department's problems in a neat, mutual killing. Who knew?

And it was stupid of him to be speculating in the condition he was in. At this point he was in nearly as bad shape as Kelly. He'd get the food ready, wake up Kelly, get them fed, and then get some sleep. Kelly could keep watch for a bit. Then, they'd talk.

Scotty lifted the Colt in one hand, getting the feel of it. This morning, for the first time in Scotty's memory, Kelly had been unable to load the handgun Scotty had given him. Kelly, who handled every gun like a lover. Scotty put the Colt back in the drawer, slamming it shut.

He walked back into the living room, staring across the darkening room at Kelly stretched out across the sofa. Kelly had turned on his side, his face buried between the pillow and the back of the sofa. Sleep was the best thing for him—sleep and food. As far as Scotty could tell, Kelly had been subsisting on a diet of ouzo. The weight loss was noticeable, as it always was on Kelly's spare frame. He'd noticed that the first day he'd arrived on the island, coming upon Kelly dressed in a swimsuit and cut-off shirt, sitting on a wall waiting for him. Warm and relaxed and happy. Carefree—

Turning on his heel, Scotty stalked back into the kitchen. He lit the fire in the oven and set the moussaka to warm while he cut bread and cheese. One night, Russ had said. One night in a bugged house. What did they expect to hear? Russ would know they'd look for bugs, wouldn't he?

When dinner was ready, Scotty went to wake Kelly, switching on a lamp in the room as he passed by it.

"What time is it?" Kelly asked, blinking and stretching.

"Don't know. Dinner time."

"Oh. I'm not very hungry."

"You'll eat."

Kelly sent him a look, but got up from the sofa, visited the bathroom, then dutifully seated himself at the table as Scotty brought the food in.

"Go on and dig in. I'm just going to turn on more light." Scotty signaled to Kelly to watch him, and showed him two of the bugs he'd found as he turned on a second lamp.

Kelly nodded. "Ah. Such delightful food as you've brought me, sir." He jerked his thumb towards the kitchen, with an inquiring look.

Scotty nodded, then pointed towards the bedrooms and raised two fingers. "The Department provided it."

"Is that so? I must remember to put them on my Christmas list, leaving us presents like that."

"Not that they consulted us on the matter of tastes." Scotty seated himself at the table.

"I've never known them to do that. What is this?" Kelly was pushing eggplant around with his fork.

"Moussaka. Lamb and eggplant, I think. Eat it."

"'Eat it,'" Kelly muttered. He picked up his glass of water. "Oh, the pitifulness of your provisions, sir. No wine?"

"No." Scotty tasted the moussaka, finding it uninspired but acceptable.

"Certainly." Kelly drank some water, but looked speculatively at Scotty.

"You're in training again, champ, after the last two weeks."

A small smile appeared, drawing up one side of Kelly's mouth. Somehow, the smile only emphasized the strain evident in Kelly, the toll that the last weeks had cost him. "And who put you in charge?"

"The Department." Scotty watched as Kelly's smile faded at the flat tone. "That's right, Kel, it's like you said, I'm running your life again."

The blankness that swept over Kelly's face hit Scotty like oxygen to a kindling fire. But then, Kelly wouldn't remember his own words, would he? He'd been high on the drug and Irena, oblivious alike to duty or friendship. If he had had the microfilm, he'd've given it up to Sorgi without thought.

"Well, you're my trainer, man," Kelly said, obviously at a loss.

Scotty let it go, concentrating on eating his food, seeking calm and focus. They should find a way to talk about the set-up and plan for tomorrow. But all that he seemed to be able to think about was the past: Kelly fumbling with the gun that morning, collapsing into his arms last night; Kelly with Irena, dancing, nearly giving their covers up; Kelly saying: "I have never made more sense in my whole born days," and smiling with more joy than Scotty had ever seen on his face before. Kelly had been willing to leave him without a thought.

Finishing his food, Scotty stood and gathered the dishes. Kelly stood too, despite the food left on his plate. He had at least eaten more than half of his portion.

"You finished?"

"Yeah." The wariness in Kelly's voice matched the look in his eyes. Scotty ignored both. He collected Kelly's dishes and walked into the kitchen. Kelly followed, bringing the rest of the bread and cheese.

While Scotty washed the dishes, Kelly put away the leftovers. Scotty took the time to silently show Kelly the Colt .38. Kelly nodded, his posture relaxing as they shared a speculative look.

"I'll finish up here," Scotty said, turning back to the dishes.

"Right." Kelly wandered out of the kitchen, leaving Scotty to his solitude. A short time later Scotty followed, finding the living room darkened. Enough light spilled into the room from the bedroom hallway to show Kelly standing by the window, holding part of the curtain back as he gazed out, smoking a cigarette.

Scotty stopped in the middle of the room, a few feet from Kelly, and watched as Kelly let the curtain fall back into place. They had to make contingency plans. It wouldn't do for them to be caught off-guard again. "Kelly?"

"I was just thinking, it's a big city to be left alone in." The tip of Kelly's cigarette glowed as he took a drag. "Are you mad at me, Scotty?"

Irena. Kelly was thinking about Irena, walking away from them into the streets of Athens. "People survive." It came out harsher than he had intended.

"So they do." Kelly took another drag, then walked to the table next to the sofa.

They'd given Irena her chance at freedom, had given her more than she deserved. She had tried to make Kelly believe she loved him. Scotty remembered her voice in that tavern: "There is no love for the Greeks without tears. Except for my Kelly. Everything is a joke. Even love." Now it seemed that all the warmth and humor in Kelly had been squeezed away during the course of the day. But Kelly had gotten himself into this mess.

"Are you going to bed?" Kelly put his cigarette out in the tray on the table.

"In a minute. First, I want to talk to you."

Kelly raised his head. "What about?"

"About what we're doing here. About what you thought you were doing on Santorini."

Kelly stayed put next to the table, but Scotty could feel his gaze shifting from Scotty to the bugs and back.

"You know what happened."

"No, I don't think I do."

"What don't you know?"

"I want you to tell me what happened, from the beginning. I want you to explain it to me."

"I already had that conversation with Russ." Each word was said distinctly, a sure sign of Kelly working on his control. Something fierce and alien within Scotty blazed into life, giving him energy, setting him along a path he hadn't meant to tread.

"Well, tell me. Only, I want the truth."

A half-laugh broke from Kelly. "The truth?"

"That's right."

"The truth. Well, the truth is, I stole the microfilm, along with lots of other films, and Irena and I were going to set up a movie theater on Santorini, where we'd show all the latest flicks and stolen microfilms. How does that grab you?"

Looking at him, unsmiling, Scotty simply waited.

"What do you want from me?"

Scotty stayed silent.

"This isn't the place—“ Kelly broke off. "Scotty."

"I'll know it when I hear it, man."

Kelly stared at him, and then he turned in a quick circle, his hand in his hair.

"Start at the beginning."

"Fine. Like I told Russ, we split up. I had a few days on my own, I took a tour of the islands."

"For ten days, without a word?"

"Inadvertently." Kelly stood still, hands at his sides, very controlled.

"And that's all, that's everything."

"That is everything. Yes."

"No, it isn't. It isn't the half of it. They're going to pin this on you unless you start being straight with me. Got it? Let's go back earlier. Why didn't you come with me to Ankara?"

There was a pause. The silence, and the possible reasons behind it, fed the unfamiliar, wild flame in Scotty. "You know why." Kelly again glanced towards the hidden microphones before turning narrowed eyes on Scotty.

"You were ducking Laursen."

"Yes."

"Because I'm not buying it, Kel."

Scotty could feel the raw confusion radiating from Kelly. "You think I stole that microfilm?"

"No. Of course not." Let them hear that on the tape, and the honest shock in Kelly's voice. Let them make what they could of the rest, they wouldn't understand it. Kelly couldn't avoid his questions here.

"What, then?"

Scotty walked forward, around the sofa, forcing Kelly to turn with him until Kelly was facing the hallway, the light revealing his expression to Scotty. "I told you. I want to know what happened. Exactly." Scotty glanced through a gap in the curtain, seeing nothing outside in the dark that shouldn't be there.

"I'm not playing this game, Scotty." Kelly moved forward, around Scotty, and towards the hallway.

Scotty grabbed Kelly's arm, bringing him around. "It's not a game. It's deadly serious, Kel. Those men out there are proof of that."

Kelly wrenched his arm out of Scotty's grasp. "I know that. I'm telling the truth."

"But not all of it. Do you want to leave the service?"

"No. What is wrong with you? This isn’t—“

"In vino veritas."

"Oh, come on! It was the _drug_.”

"Which you were only too happy to take."

"I didn't know."

"And your first, uninhibited thought was to leave the service."

"No!"

"What then? What was behind all this?"

Kelly stared at him, breath coming hard and fast. "Lay off me."

"Uh-uh. I told you. I want the truth."

There was disbelief in Kelly's face. "You know what I have given up for this job. You know."

"So you thought, maybe, you'd found it again." Irena: warmth and love, albeit at the bottom of a bottle, in a drugged, confused haze.

"No. Maybe. I don't know!" Kelly turned another tight circle, trapped. "Look, can you blame me after what Laursen did to us? We were set up, and it wasn't the first time. But I came back, once the drug was gone. Is that enough for you?"

"No, not nearly, and you know it. You can't duck me, Kel."

"I'm not—“ But he broke off under Scotty's look. "I'm telling you, lay off me."

"Why did you leave?"

Kelly closed his eyes, his face starkly vulnerable.

Scotty lowered his voice. "Talk to me. Let me help you out of this." He said the words automatically, but he saw them register with Kelly, saw the way he froze, and the meaning behind what he'd said burned away the last of Scotty's restraint. He took off his watch, tossing it to the sofa, and then he took off his shoes.

“What—“

Scotty took a step forward and pulled his shirt over his head. "You need clarity, man, focus. Remember what they taught us in judo? So, let's have a little practice, here and now. In action you'll find release."

Kelly stood before him, silent, eyes wide.

"Take off your shoes, Kelly." He waited, and watched as Kelly slowly took off his shoes.

"We're both too tired for this." There was a desperate edge to Kelly's voice.

"We're on the tatami. _Hajime_.”

Scotty moved, light-footed towards Kelly, already knowing that he would win. It wasn't much of a match, most of Kelly's grace and strength diminished by exhaustion, despite the sleep he'd had. A few feints, one good hold on Kelly's part, and, in breaking it, Scotty pinned Kelly to the floor. He lay on top of Kelly, feeling his quick breaths, feeling the tension of overstretched muscles. He was in control of Kelly's every move.

With deliberation, born of his own loss, Scotty used his free hand to push up Kelly's shirt. A convulsive movement nearly freed Kelly, but Scotty put pressure into his hold and Kelly subsided.

It was in Scotty's mind, all the nights they had done this, from the first to the last. He knew Kelly's body as no one else did, knew how he turned on at a touch, knew every weakness. Scotty's hand moved in a glide down Kelly's chest, over his stomach and to the top of his jeans. He undid the button, and the zip.

"Scotty." Kelly's voice was hoarse.

Scotty leaned down close to Kelly, his hand caressing through fabric, reaching skin. He whispered, "Say _matte_. Say it, but I'll only accept the full truth."

"The truth." Kelly muttered the word, and then a twisting, nearly bitter smile briefly appeared. "Oh, no."

And it was scorched earth, then, as Scotty took any vestige of control away from Kelly, driving him to desire and need with the touch of his hand and his tongue. Kelly closed his eyes, the strain of not speaking, of keeping silent, as clear on his face as anguish.

In a small, sane corner of his mind, Scotty was appalled at his tactics, at the risk they were running. But the room was dark, the doors locked, curtains closed. They'd hear if the guards entered the house. Their breathing, their movements, the occasional muttered word could all be construed as part of their struggle rather than their pleasure. Scotty retained enough sense to augment the illusion for their listeners, but he could not have stopped, even if he had heard the guards at the door.

Kelly writhed under Scotty's hands, the judo hold long since broken. Scotty used his tongue to trace Kelly's stomach and down to lick Kelly's hot cock, tasting him, pleased with the gasp that escaped Kelly's control, pleased that it was no more than a gasp. How many others had gone down on Kelly? The man was experienced, skillful, disciplined enough to do this for both work and pleasure. But as Scotty took him into his mouth he knew, beyond any doubt, that it was only that core inner strength that kept Kelly from breaking his silence, from revealing exactly what they were doing. Surrender and control in one. The beauty of it burned through Scotty, his blood pounding, and he nearly whimpered his relief as he felt Kelly's leg move against his confined cock, giving him the pressure he needed, even as he gave his mouth and tongue to Kelly.

He felt the first jerk of Kelly coming, and then his throat was filled, and he swallowed, taking it all, draining Kelly, and he pressed himself against Kelly's leg, moving enough to gain his own release, the taking doubled. Regretfully, he allowed Kelly to slip from his mouth, and he rolled to his side, and then his back, one hand still on Kelly's body, feeling his jagged breathing.

Scotty closed his eyes, and it was as if a fog lifted in his head, revealing the reality that had been shrouded and warped. What had he done? There was movement beside him, and he opened his eyes to find Kelly propped up next to him, his eyes dark in subdued light from the hallway, his face grim.

“ _Matte_ ,” Kelly said, very clearly, and Scotty flinched at the tone in his voice. "The truth, you said?" Kelly leaned in close, and his mouth took Scotty's with the same fierceness and single-minded purpose that Scotty had used on him. But Kelly's mouth was giving as well, begging a response. There was no holding back here, no hiding, and no quarter. And then Kelly pulled back. "Deal with that, Jack."

Kelly pushed himself to his feet, pulling his clothes together. He stood for a moment over Scotty before he turned and walked away. A short time later, Scotty heard the sound of a shower running—domestic, normal, and as alien as a flower in a devastated landscape.

For longer still, Scotty lay on the floor, gazing blankly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts swirl around him without attempting to put them in order. Images blinded him: Kelly and himself; their past and present. Caught up with the images were a dangerous mixture of feelings. He had to pull himself together, get a grip. Cool it.

Eventually, he gathered himself enough to get up, find his watch, and make his way to the bedroom where he'd left his bag. He sat down on the edge of one of the beds, wanting nothing more than to fall back and away into sleep. His gaze fell on Kelly's bag, and he realized he'd brought both bags to this room, the twin-bedded room, without thinking.

A tidal wave of emotion ambushed him, confusing and disorienting. He hadn't felt like this in a long time, not for years. Not since he'd discovered the secret of organizing his life, setting priorities, focusing only on what was real. He didn't like this, he didn't want anything to do with this chaos.

The shower stopped and still he didn't move, not until he felt Kelly's presence at the door to the room, and then Scotty looked up. Kelly's face was, for once, expressionless. He leaned against the doorway, dressed as he had been earlier, in the same white jeans and green pullover shirt. His hair was damp and spiky from a rough toweling.

Scotty could think of nothing to say, nothing that made any sense to say.

Kelly's eyes flickered over him. "You need sleep."

Scotty took a breath in. "Yes."

"Well. Good night." Kelly signaled that he would stay on watch.

Scotty nodded and watched as Kelly turned to leave. "Kelly." He didn't know why he'd stopped him, except, something had to be said.

"Yeah?" Now he could read something in Kelly, could see the same wariness that had goaded Scotty earlier in the evening. So much had changed and yet so little.

Scotty's voice, as he spoke, was nothing more than a whisper. "I...can't."

For a long moment, Kelly was still, and then he closed his eyes briefly before looking at Scotty. His smile, meant to be reassuring, cut at Scotty like a knife. "Okay. It's not important."

"Don't."

Kelly shook his head. "Listen to me. It is not important." He met Scotty's eyes with that weary integrity that was so familiar. "It's been a long time and it hasn't mattered before. Now, go to sleep." Kelly left.

Scotty looked at the empty doorway for a long time before he finally leaned forward to grab his bag. He needed a shower before he slept. Pulling out gray slacks and his shaving kit, he forced himself up and headed for the bathroom.

The water was only lukewarm when he finally stood under the spray, but it was welcome. He couldn't seem to focus; there was too much to look at, too many factors to consider. Kelly.... But, it was better not to go there yet, not to think about him. Scotty had to get himself figured out first. He had to understand how it could have gotten so out of hand. He'd meant to get some answers from Kelly, to gain some clarity about events and motivations so they could lay it out for Russ. Instead...instead, he'd pushed Kelly to a wall he hadn't even known existed.

Scotty braced his hand against the shower wall and ducked his head under the spray, letting the water cascade down his head and back. Kelly had decided not to go to Ankara after that night in Geneva. He remembered watching Kelly on the balcony in Geneva, affected as always by the loneliness he sensed, by the melancholy that could sometimes sweep through Kelly. One way or another, a lot of people had needed Scotty over the years. Before Kelly he hadn't known a man could need so much and yet be so utterly self-sufficient. The watcher and the watched. There had been some moods of Kelly's that Scotty had been unable to affect, unable to help with, until the night a massage had turned to desire and touch had given him the key.

Scotty turned his head, the water pouring on his ear, before he straightened. Be honest. In Geneva, at least, he'd wanted something for himself as well; he'd wanted connection, proof of life, proof of them, maybe. It hadn't all been about what Kelly needed. Turning off the water with a quick jerk, Scotty shook his head, dispersing water. Well, he'd gotten it wrong, had made it worse for Kelly, somehow. And Kelly hadn't told him. Kelly had run from him straight to ouzo and to Irena. Drowning his sorrows. And then he'd quit the service. Some truth, Kel.

Grabbing a towel, Scotty vigorously dried himself. Kelly should have told him. They'd work it out. It had been Scotty's mistake in the first place. Kelly understood—he’d made that clear, hadn't he? Slipping into the slacks he'd brought, Scotty turned out the light in the bathroom and walked back to the bedroom.

His bed was cool as he slipped between the sheets, settling into it with a sigh. They'd work it out. Kelly knew the plans Scotty had made for his life, each step carefully thought out. He'd been planning and carrying through on steps since he was nine years old, since the day he finally believed his father wasn't coming back any time soon. Once he decided on something, Scotty went for it; the lessons needed to succeed had been well-learned. He'd taken charge of his own life, had helped his mother raise his brother and sister, had worked hard through high school to earn a scholarship to Temple. Everything had been according to the plan, for himself and his family. It had worked. The only anomaly had been his decision to join the Department.

Scotty turned onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable position for sleep. Even that anomaly could be explained. He'd forgotten the dreams of his youth, his thirst for adventure and travel. The Department had offered that and it had been an irresistible lure. But it was temporary, his work with the Department. Eventually he'd settle down, maybe teach, raise a family. He'd told his mother that, long ago, when he'd first told her his cover story about Kelly. She hadn't seen anything wrong with it. He'd talked about it with Kelly, too. It was still the plan, just delayed a bit.

He rolled to his other side, stretching out his back. He'd met Kelly that first day in training and it hadn't taken long for him to see that Kelly had been running from demons even then. But he'd been good—ambitious, smart, with a flair for thinking on his feet. They'd survived basic training by hooking up with each other, turning competition into an advantage. Afterwards, they'd traveled separate paths only to end up partnered a few years later. Cynical, funny, quick-witted, unpredictable, loyal to the bone, that was Kelly. Nothing would change that or their friendship—they both recognized that truth.

Drifting, Scotty tried to order his thoughts, but the urgency had diminished. He understood himself now. He'd acted out of frustration and worry, turning to touch when all else had failed. No wonder there. Easily explained. An anomaly. And on the thought, Scotty slept.

It seemed only a short time later that he woke to find Kelly at his side, Kelly's hand on his arm. Hard practice meant that Scotty woke quickly and quietly, ready for Kelly's soft whisper.

"Someone's outside."

Kelly moved away from the bed, and Scotty followed him, not bothering with shirt or shoes. At the door to the bedroom, Kelly stopped and turned back, and Scotty found that a gun was being pushed into his hands. He took hold of the gun but touched Kelly's shoulder as he turned back to the door.

Softly, Kelly said, "You've had more sleep." He slipped out into the hallway. After a moment, Scotty followed.

There was no one in the living room and no sound from outside, but Scotty had no doubt that Kelly was right. Scotty illuminated his watch to see that it was 3:45—Kelly had let him sleep longer than he should have.

They separated in the living room, Scotty going to the side of the window, Kelly next to the kitchen wall. Scotty caught a glimpse of shadows moving towards the front door and eased his way to the low wall of the foyer, crouching beside it. He heard a key turn the lock and then the door was opened cautiously.

"Scott? Robinson?" The voice was faintly familiar.

Scotty rose to his feet. With a signal to Kelly, he tossed the gun to him and moved towards the door. "Who is it?" Kelly faded into the kitchen.

"I'm coming in."

“Wait—“ But it was already too late as the door crashed open and a man stumbled through the doorway, falling to his knees. Before Scotty could react a second man joined the first, gun in hand.

"Make a move and I blow his brains out. Turn on a light."

Scotty hesitated a moment, then backed up and switched on the floor lamp.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." It was Proctor, Laursen's aide from Ankara, holding the gun to Laursen's head.

"Fools," Laursen said. He was bleeding from a cut on his lip, and clearly had been struck more than once. He was big and fair, a former football player with too little time to work out.

"No, just not expecting trouble." Proctor, a thin wraith compared with Laursen, smiled at Scotty. "Where's Robinson?"

"Asleep."

"Is he? Well, I suppose we could let the shots wake him." He pushed Laursen forward, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

Scotty studied him. "You stole the microfilm. And now you're going to kill us, is that it?" Scotty kept his hands in sight, but he took a step away from the lamp, towards the window.

"Substantially correct, as far as it goes. Robinson! If you're in the kitchen, I suggest you come out now. Hands high."

"Why should he come out if he's there?" Scotty started to take another step, but stopped as Proctor's gun swung on him.

"Perhaps for a chance to say goodbye? Robinson!"

"I'm here." To Scotty's dismay, Kelly stepped through the archway, his hands raised to shoulder level.

Proctor's gun swung toward Kelly, but then he backed up a step, his gun shifting from Kelly to Scotty and back. "Move to the center of the room. You too, Scott."

Kelly didn't move. "We're more valuable to you alive and...cooperating."

"Are you?" Proctor seemed amused by the thought.

"Certainly. You already know our government isn't as fond of us as we'd like. I'm sure we can reach some arrangement." A flash of white as Kelly smiled.

Proctor wasn't buying it, Scotty could see that. He was watching Proctor's gun hand, and he saw Proctor's fingers tighten, the gun shifting. "Proctor!" Scotty shouted even as he moved, diving for the slight protection of the low wall, hoping that he had drawn Proctor's attention to him. He heard a gunshot, plaster splintering over his head, then another shot, followed by a barrage too quick to count. And then there was silence.

"Scotty!"

The urgency in Kelly's voice brought Scotty to his feet, relief mingled with alarm. "Here." He saw that Laursen was slowly getting to his feet, staring at Proctor's sprawled body. Kelly was on his knees by the kitchen wall. "Are you okay?"

Kelly nodded and gestured towards Proctor.

Scotty moved forward, not surprised to find that Proctor was dead—he’d taken at least three bullets to his chest. Signaling this to Kelly, Scotty bent to retrieve Proctor's gun, checking it quickly. Reaction was starting to set in, his muscles twitching.

"Robinson." Scotty turned to find Laursen advancing on Kelly. Pocketing the gun, Scotty followed Laursen.

"Sir." Kelly had gained his feet but he was peering down at his left shoulder with a frown, exploring it with his right hand.

"You damn fool, why did you kill him?" Laursen's displeasure was evident. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad this is over, but we could have gotten a lot of information from the little bastard if you hadn't fu—“

Scotty interrupted the flow of words by the simple means of a chop to Laursen's neck. He caught the man as he fell, lowering him more or less gently to the floor. Straightening, Scotty found Kelly looking at him open-mouthed.

"Uhh...Scotty?"

"What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"Nothing. A burn, maybe, it stings. But, um, are you sure you...?"

Scotty closed the distance between them, pushing Kelly against the wall. "Yes," he said, "I am." He leaned forward and brought his mouth down on Kelly's. When he finished he saw that Kelly's expression hadn't changed much. "How long do you think until the cavalry comes?"

"Ah. Cavalry." Kelly straightened himself and coughed. "Yes. Well, it could be any time. It depends." He looked closely at Scotty, frowning.

"Then we'd better see to them before tending to our own business." Scotty smiled at him, as promising a smile as he could make it.

Kelly didn't smile back. "All right."

Between the two of them, they moved Laursen to the sofa, Kelly batting away Scotty's hand when he tried to check the injured shoulder. "Later." Laursen was out cold. Scotty left Kelly to see to him while he slipped outside. It was as he'd feared; both guards were dead, their throats slit. They had been far too young for this business. It seemed likely they had been the source for the key Proctor had used. Grimly, Scotty walked back to the house, noting the first hint of dawn in the eastern sky.

Kelly had brought an armchair close to the sofa and was sitting in that, watching the unconscious Laursen, his gun held casually on his knee. He looked up at Scotty. "They're dead?"

Scotty nodded, and walked over to Kelly to check out his shoulder. An angry red furrow showed how close Proctor's bullet had come, but Kelly was right that it wasn't anything to worry about. Scotty collected the first aid kit from his bag and tended to it. Kelly hissed as the antiseptic stung.

"You should've ducked better."

"Oh, thank you. I was having a heart attack right about then from watching you dodge a bullet from point-blank range."

"Don't exaggerate." Scotty repacked the kit, then settled himself on the floor next to Kelly's chair.

"Exaggerate! Certainly. I forgot about that bullet-proof deflector shield you have."

"Yes, and you should have borrowed it."

"It would have deflected my aim." Kelly yawned. "What are we supposed to do now, do you think?"

"Wait. Russ told us to stay here, so that's what we'll do. We're already in enough trouble, thanks to you, without asking for more."

"Yes, well, I wasn't the one who suggested clocking the acting Bureau Chief in the Middle East, you'll remember."

"Oh, you had to get that on the tape, did you?" Scotty raised his voice: "Assuming they're still listening to us at all, since they haven't shown up yet!" On impulse, Scotty stretched a hand towards Kelly's mouth, wanting to touch him. Kelly caught his wrist in a hard grip, staring at him.

"It's all right," Scotty said. Kelly released him, although his expression didn't soften. Scotty wasn't surprised, but for himself, any doubts were over.

Laursen, with all his usual sense of timing, chose that moment to stir. Scotty turned to watch him. With a groan, Laursen lurched into a sitting position, one hand to the back of his head.

"You'd do better to stay lying down, sir," Kelly spoke courteously.

Laursen blinked and peered at them. "Robinson," he said, with loathing.

"Yes, sir."

Laursen turned his gaze to Scotty. "Scott."

"Yes. Would you like a drink? Water?"

"What happened? Why—“

"A precaution," Scotty told Laursen. "We're keeping an eye on you until the cavalry arrives."

"The cav—“

"He means Russ Conway," Kelly explained.

Laursen looked from Kelly to Scotty and then at the gun still in Kelly's hand. "You're crazy. You still think I was involved? That's outrageous."

"Well, look at it from our perspective." Scotty kept his voice level. "You came in here with Proctor and he tried to kill us. We still don't know where the microfilm is. You were the one accusing Kelly. So we're erring on the side of caution."

There was a flush rising in Laursen's face. "Proctor forced me to come here. He was a double agent. He was going to kill all three of us!"

Kelly shifted in his chair. "But, you see, that's what has me puzzled. Why come here at all? His cover was blown; shouldn't he have gotten out?"

Scotty raised his head as he heard noise from outside. "I think the cavalry is here." He stood up and walked to the window. "Three cars and, yes, there's Russ." He moved quickly to the door, opening it just as Russ arrived.

Russ stopped on the threshold, Smith and another man flanking him. He took a quick look around and then visibly relaxed. "Well, you boys have had some excitement, I see." He strolled into the house, his men following him.

"Conway," Laursen spoke up, gesturing towards Kelly, "tell that young fool to put his gun away. You know I had nothing to do with this."

"I would if I could, Harold, but there are still a few questions we have for you. Smith, however, will escort you back to the Embassy." Russ signaled to Smith, who, with another man, got Laursen to his feet and led him from the house. Kelly put away his gun.

Scotty glared at Russ. "Where have you been?"

Russ directed two more men to take care of Proctor's body, then he turned back to Scotty. "Proctor led us on a bit of a chase. We thought he was going to the Soviet Embassy; instead, he created a diversion at our Embassy—a bomb—and then he must have high-tailed it here."

"A bomb? Was anyone injured?"

"No, fortunately. We were lucky. His real objective was you, apparently. Come on, I'll explain it to you in the car. There's no reason to stay here any longer." He signaled to two more men to come forward, conferring with them.

Kelly sighed and stood up. "I wish someone would explain why it was so important to kill us."

Scotty pushed Kelly towards the door. "You go on, I'll get the bags."

Kelly didn't argue, just found his shoes and followed Russ out of the house. Scotty hurried to the bedroom, pulled on a shirt and shoes, grabbed their bags and headed for the car. Once again he and Kelly were in the back, but this time it was Russ in the front seat with a driver, and the atmosphere was noticeably more relaxed. Dawn had arrived, glinting through haze, promising another hot day.

"Okay now," Scotty said, looking at Russ. "Tell us what happened. You expected Proctor to come after us, didn't you? We were tethered goats."

"I left you armed, and you handled it just as expected."

"Kelly's injured."

Russ looked quickly at Kelly. “What—“

Kelly waved him down. "Nothing. And it wasn't so much tethered goats as 'may the best man win,' right?"

Russ tilted his head. "It came out as I expected."

"The wonderfulness of your trust is overwhelming." Scotty's smile was tight and he could feel anger coiling inside. It wasn't that they'd been used, but the inefficiency of it. And the lives of the two guards.

"Now we know what happened and you two are clear."

Kelly coughed. "Would you mind explaining what happened to us?" Scotty noted the fatigue in Kelly's voice. Another mark against Russ. Kelly had been in no shape to go through all this.

"We're still tying up a few loose ends, but I think I can map it out for you. Proctor was an agent for the Soviets and he infiltrated our Department. He stole the microfilm when Kelly provided him with a convenient scapegoat. He's the one, by the way, who gave up the rendezvous to Baecker. That was supposed to take care of you. When it didn't, he improvised, and that was his undoing. Afterwards he must have found out, as we did, that the original microfilm was, in fact, a plant that the Soviets wanted us to grab. Proctor wasn't supposed to steal it back.

Scotty shook his head. "And when his side found out what Proctor had done, they weren't too happy with him."

"Exactly. He blew their plan, and he'd blown his cover. You know what the Soviets do to spies who fail that badly." Russ shrugged.

Kelly spoke up. "Isn't that marvelous. So, he thought he'd take us out as a sort of grand exit?"

"Wonderful." Scotty smiled without humor. "And there we were, gift-wrapped by our own Department."

"What's going to happen to Laursen?" Kelly asked.

"He'll be reassigned. He won't be placed in charge again, I can tell you that."

"What a shame. There are a few people I'd like to see him in charge of."

"What about us?" Scotty asked.

"I'm taking you to your hotel. It's back to the status quo for you. Kelly has a tournament coming up before too long."

"Ah," Kelly said, "yes."

"And you?"

"Washington, and then San Francisco. If you two can manage to stay below the radar for awhile."

"We'll give it a try," Scotty said.

"For novelty's sake," Kelly added.

They lapsed into silence as the car continued on through streets that were quiet in the early morning. Kelly was sitting beside him, hands clasped loosely in his lap, but it was as if there were a wall between them. Scotty wasn't going to tolerate that for long, but he thought he understood. Too much had happened too quickly, and Kelly needed his space just now.

For himself there was no more confusion. He'd realized the truth in the same split second that he had moved to draw Proctor's attention. He could talk all he wanted about his plans for the future, believing them unchanged, but the truth was that they'd changed irrevocably when he'd entered the Department. The anomaly wasn't Kelly, it was Scotty thinking he could just get back on track whenever he wanted. It was past time he faced that.

Maybe, if Kelly hadn't been there, he could have done it, could have eventually quit and gone on with a more normal life. But he doubted it. Something inside him had drawn him to the Department, turning his back on his expected future, on the dreams his mother had had for him. Kelly had become a part of his life. And Scotty knew he'd sacrifice everything, including his future, to give Kelly a chance at his.

Why had he initiated the sex that first night? To help Kelly? To help himself? He no longer knew, and he suspected it had been a combination of the two and more—the inevitable result of their unique partnership. Scotty closed his eyes, sinking into the seat of the car. There were problems ahead for them—the Department, his mother, women, their histories in relationships—enough to doom them from the start. But none of it mattered beyond the simple fact that Kelly was his and he was Kelly's. It had been like that for years now; Kelly had just been quicker to realize it.

Scotty glanced across at Kelly, who had his head turned to gaze out the window. A smile tugged at Scotty's mouth. Oh, yes, he was going to have trouble there, but he knew what he wanted now, and he knew Kelly.

They arrived at the hotel and Scotty and Kelly climbed out of the car, along with Russ. Scotty, again, picked up both bags.

"We can take you to the Embassy," Russ offered, looking at Kelly. "Have that shoulder looked at.

Scotty smiled grimly. "No, thank you. We've had enough of Embassy doctors and trips to visit them."

"Goodbye, Russ," Kelly said, shaking his hand. "Have a good trip."

"Bye, fellas. Keep out of trouble, huh?" Russ got back into the car and it pulled away. Scotty and Kelly headed upstairs.

Scotty dumped the bags in the middle of their room, taking a quick look around. The curtains were drawn over the window with its view of the Parthenon, keeping the sun out, if not the heat. Opening the window to let the breeze in, Scotty turned back to find Kelly searching their room for bugs. He joined in the search, taking the time to be thorough. They found nothing, which he hoped meant they were well and truly out of it.

He turned at the sound of clinking glass to find Kelly standing at the table, pouring himself a drink from their store of liquor.

"I'm tired," Kelly said, sounding defensive. He looked terrible—baggy eyes, beard stubble, torn shirt, and there was weariness in every line. But Scotty was seeing him with newly appreciative eyes, and marveling at the simple fact that Kelly was alive and they were together.

Scotty picked up the pillow that had fallen to the floor near one of the beds and put it back in place. "I know." He walked to the end of the bed. "You've been tired a long time. Since before Ankara."

Kelly downed the shot in a single gulp and placed the glass back on the table. "It's part of the job."

"I'm not talking about the job."

Kelly looked at him. "We are not going there."

Yes, this was going to be every bit as difficult as Scotty had expected. "It's just us, no one is listening."

Kelly's eyes narrowed. "Oh, is that right? No, there's no one listening _now_. Last night you weren't so picky, were you? Not when I was on the rack."

"I needed to know, Kel."

"No, you did not. Oh no, sir, you did not. It didn't have any bearing on what went down."

"You disappeared, Scotty said levelly. "You got yourself lost for ten days, and no word to me. I thought you were dead, man."

Kelly closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry about that."

"I know. But it doesn't change that it happened and I needed to know why."

"The drug...."

"It wasn't just the drug. And it wasn't Irena, although it was my jealousy of her that let it all get out of hand last night." Kelly's eyes flickered at that, and Scotty moved forward until he stood in front of Kelly. "She called you 'my Kelly.'"

A slight smile touched Kelly's mouth before disappearing. "She was wrong."

"I know that now, too."

"Well, you sure know a lot of things, but it's not that simple, Woody." He paused and then continued. "Scotty, you said no."

"I said I can't." He took in a breath. "And I was wrong."

Kelly moved away, putting more space between them. "You're not the only one who knows things. You were right the first time. Instinctive reaction."

"It was instinctive to kiss you this morning, too."

"No, that was impulse. You do not make decisions on impulse."

"My impulse is to kiss you now. I'd like nothing better than to do that."

"Stop it." There was real pain in Kelly's voice and Scotty stepped close to him again, although he didn't dare touch him.

"Kelly. I'm not joking, and I'm not acting on impulse. This is gut-level truth. I've been blind. I didn't know. You were faster about it than I was, but I'm catching up."

"This isn't your scene, man. I know that. You've been...kind." Kelly trailed off, not looking at Scotty.

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say. Kind!" Scotty grabbed Kelly's upper arms, shaking him. "We haven't got time to be kind. I could have killed you when you greeted me that day, all relaxed, on Santorini. I was furious with you, drugged or not. And they told me I had to risk killing you to bring you out of it. Do you know what I went through, waiting to see if you'd ever wake up? Only to be landed in this mess, with Proctor coming through the door with his gun and you walking out of the kitchen to give yourself up as easy as you please! Don't talk to me about being kind!"

“Scotty—“

Scotty shook him again. "You think this isn't equal? I might've been slow but I'm not dumb. I don't go crawling into bed with everyone, you know. I want you, and I need you."

“But—“

"Don't you dare talk to me about my future, or about any of that stuff I used to tell you. There is no future for me without you. Don't you get it? You _are_ my life. You."

Kelly broke free of Scotty's hold, but he didn't move away. He put his hand alongside Scotty's face, then trailed his fingers down over his mouth. "Boy, you would talk a man to death. In Geneva you said you owed me your life."

"I do. Just as you owe me yours."

"I thought it was...gratitude."

"I suppose I've felt just about everything in connection with you. Gratitude? Sure, that's part of it. No one else drives me as crazy as you do, that's another part. I think I'd be half dead inside without you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I still can't believe—“ A frown was gathering in Kelly's eyes.

Scotty pulled him close. "Trust me, Kel."

They both leaned forward, their mouths meeting, then merging, both giving and taking. Scotty soared with the feel of it, with the freedom of released emotion, held safe by Kelly. Whatever else came to them, they would have this.

Kelly gradually broke the kiss, pulling back, although no more than an inch or two. "Scotty?"

"Hmm?" Scotty was exploring Kelly's jawbone, first with fingers, then with his mouth.

"Um. I'm falling asleep here, man." Kelly's tone showed what he thought of that, but his weariness was unmistakable. He was going to be out on his feet in another minute.

"Well, let's get you to the bed. I'm not carrying you."

"I wish you would," Kelly mumbled as Scotty guided him to the bed. "Scotty?" He sat down on the bed.

"Yeah?" Scotty pulled Kelly's shoes off.

"Why'd you really hit Laursen?"

Scotty pushed Kelly down onto the bed. "You'd just saved his life, you didn't need to be yelled at."

A sleepy smile spread across Kelly's face, as his eyes closed. "My man, my man."

"You'd better believe it. Get used to it."

A hand flopped in Scotty's direction. "You too."

"Yeah, go to sleep, hero. I'll be here when you wake up." Scotty watched as Kelly's breathing deepened. Out like a light. "I'll always be here," he whispered. He dropped a light kiss on Kelly's hand before standing up and crossing to the other bed. He might as well get some sleep himself. The Department would be calling all too soon.

 

*****

 

**EPILOGUE: _God always pairs off like with like_ \-- Homer, _Odysseus_**

 

Scotty opened one eye, wincing at the brightness. Every light in the room appeared to be on. Kelly sat beside the table, typewriter on his lap, pounding the keys rhythmically.

"What are you doing?"

"Hush." Kelly must have just had a shower, his hair was still damp, and he looked clean-shaven. He was wearing a robe and very little else. The robe gaped.

Scotty contemplated this sight for a while with pleasure, before the noise that had awakened him broke through his consciousness again. "I'm going to buy you a silent typewriter." Kelly ignored him, typing away. "Are you writing to my mom again?"

"Yes."

"What are you writing to her about?"

"Never you mind, sir."

"Oh." His thoughts drifted for a moment, turning back to when they had both awakened in the late afternoon. He smiled. "Tell her I'm eating my greens."

"I do not lie to your mother."

"And getting exercise."

"Well, now, that is true." Kelly spared him a grin before returning to the typewriter.

"You're not writing about Charybdis and Scylla again, are you?"

"No."

"Good." Scotty closed his eyes.

"Where's Ithaca?"

"West. Ionian Islands. Why?"

Kelly kept typing.

"What are you up to?" Silence, except for the typewriter. "If it's Odysseus, some people say it was really Levkas."

"Ssh."

"You'd better not be making me Penelope!"

"I'll make you Calypso if you don't hush up."

"I wouldn't mind holding you captive for seven years. Bet you'd choose to stay, too."

"And leave poor Penelope grieving?"

"Twenty years he wandered all over the place." Scotty pushed the sheet aside and crawled out of bed. "After a few days of him cluttering up the house she probably wished him gone another twenty."

"Cynic."

Scotty padded over to Kelly and kissed him. "I learn from the best." He headed for the bathroom. "Why Ithaca?"

"Because we're home, Jack. At last."

END

_2001_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the multi-fandom zine _Overtures_ , Allamagoosa Press, 2003


End file.
